the best laid plans
by BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: Here's what you don't expect to happen when you surrender a child for adoption-you end up raising them.
1. avoiding the road

**i am literal trash oh my god. **

**disclaimed**

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...

The day dragged on sluggishly, and Katherine Castle was more than ready to be done with work. There was once a time where she wouldn't have minded working well into the night, but that was before Castle and before Milo, and now she wanted nothing more than to go home and settle onto the couch with her boys. Unfortunately, it was only midday, and she had to at least finish the post-case paperwork before she could leave early for the weekend.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching until she heard her spine pop satisfyingly. As Kate leaned forward and nudged her mouse to wake her computer, the phone rang. She glanced first to her cell phone, banking on it being either Castle or a body drop, but realized soon enough that it was neither, and that it was her work line ringing.

Sighing, Kate picked it up, answering, "Beckett?" She had kept her maiden name professionally, because, though Castle wasn't coming in quite as much, it would have been confusing for everyone if they asked for Castle and two heads looked up.

A woman asked brightly, "Is this Katherine Castle?"

"Yes…? And this is?"

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry! My mind is in a million different places today, gosh. I'm Dana Turner, a social worker with the Office of Children and Family Services."

_Michelson case,_ Kate realized. Dana Turner, seemingly oblivious of her silence, continued, "I'm guessing you weren't expecting a social worker to call you, especially so out of the blue–."

Kate, out of surprise, interrupted, "This isn't about the Michelson case, then?"

"Michelson? Oh, honey, no! That's Miranda's case. Actually, though, she'll probably be calling you sometime next week about it. Right now, they're still ironing out the kinks in the custody agreement. But I didn't tell you that. I'm actually calling about the child that you gave up for adoption."

Kate sucked in her breath sharply, her mind's eye being flooded with images of a little pink bundle, of baby blue eyes already darkening, of a little hand wrapping itself around her index finger, of tears and heartache and a little head with a dark thatch of hair, curling out at the ends as it dried.

"Mrs. Castle?"

"I'm here."

...

When she hung up on Dana, Kate had called Castle immediately. Pretty soon after they had started dating, Kate had told him about the baby she had given up in college, and had told him that she was registered on a reunion database, so that when her daughter decided to go looking for her, she'd be there. He'd always supported that idea, and had always looked forward to the day that he and Kate would get to meet the child she had given up.

So, when she called him to let him know what was going on, he immediately told her that she should go to the meeting that Dana had offered. "To get more information," he had said gently, just before there was a tremendous crash in the background, followed by giggling. She had smiled as he yelled their son's name.

And that's just what she did. She finished the paperwork quickly, but thoroughly, of course, and drove to OCFS headquarters, a tall gray building that looked much the same inside, gray and dismal and not at all what she had imagined it would look like. Inside, it was empty, and as Kate stepped off the elevator onto an equally abandoned floor, she got the feeling that most of the social workers and other staff had cleared out for the weekend.

Dana Turner's office was the only one with a light on. Inside, a petite woman, blonde hair piled into a messy bun on the top of her head, sat behind a computer, frowning as she typed away. Kate knocked against the door frame hesitantly, and Dana looked up sharply, smiling warmly when she saw her.

"Mrs. Castle, I presume?" Kate nodded, and Dana stood offering her hand, which Kate shook before sitting down. Dana said, "Well, I already told you that this is about your daughter. What I didn't tell you was that this is one of the most unorthodox things I could ever do in regards to aforementioned daughter, but…"

She pulled a bursting at the seams manila folder out of one of the boxes stacked next to her, and opened it, reciting, "Your daughter has been through seventy four foster homes in her time in the system. That's seventy four homes in ten years, approximately a new place every two months, not counting her stints at the Manhattan Institute for Girls, which is a glorified orphanage. She's run away seven times.

"There's maybe two more homes that are willing to take her, and that's on a _very _short term basis. After she blows through those homes…she has a few options. She can go back to the Institute, but I really try to keep my kids out of that place. It's clean and relatively safe, but there's no real care given for the girls that go in there. She could be transferred out of the city, to upstate New York, but that would mean taking her out of her school, and away from her friends, and I'm loath to do that, for obvious reasons. The third option is boarding school, but that's in Pennsylvania, which I don't want to do for the same reasons. And then, there's military school, if she screws up enough, which is a very real possibility at this point. And then, if she screws up really, _really _badly, there's juvie. There are more than enough reasons as to why I never want these things to happen.

"She's…she's a sweet girl. She's just had a bad life, and she _thinks_ that she's got nothing left for her. And quite honestly, if I can't get her into a safe, stable environment soon, there will be nothing left for her. Kids with lives like hers don't go the college, they rarely graduate high school. Statistic aren't in her favor. And the point of all of this; of me calling you out of the blue, of me recounting this girl's entire life story to you, is because I'm about to do something possibly very stupid and career-threatening, but I figured that the worst that you could say is no, right?"

She laughed nervously, her face going a shade of pink that didn't look entirely normal, and Kate grew nervous as well, asking, "Ms. Turner, what are you talking about?"

"Call me Dana. And, see, what I'm talking about, is the possibility of your daughter having another option. …You." Kate's eyes widened, and Dana rushed to say, "I mean, gosh, this is coming out wrong; I just mean that you're registered as an emergency foster parent? And, considering the current circumstances, it's becoming an emergency, and I just sort of thought that maybe if Carly were to have a stable, parental figure in her life that she would maybe turn her life around and you were a last ditch attempt at that, and normally I wouldn't do this because premature reunions can mess the kids _and _the parents up for a long time, but I did some checking up on you and you actually sort of fit the profile of parent I was looking for, for her and…and I'm over-explaining. Basically, I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking her in. It could be on the terms of you simply being another foster home, even for a short while, or, if you wanted, it could be with the intent to reunite you two permanently. Or something in between. But it's completely up to you, and I hope you don't feel pressured at all, because that's not what I'm aiming for at all."

Kate felt a bit overwhelmed, and began compartmentalizing the information, suppressing her emotions in favor of clear headed thought for the time being. She asked, "Can I talk to my husband about this and get back to you?"

Dana's face brightened immediately– she had obviously expected to be turned down on the spot– and she said, "Oh, of course! Um, here, let me just write down my direct line…" She shuffled through the papers on her desk, finally pulling a Post-It note out and scribbling down her number. She handed it to Kate with the instructions, "Call any time. I'm here always."

...

"I think that my answer's obvious, Kate." Kate sighed and sat down heavily on their bed, peeking at her husband through her fingers. She could just barely see him through the door to the bathroom, brushing his teeth. At least that explained why his answer was muffled.

"I know that," she responded. "But I think I need to hear you say it out loud."

He spat into the sink and said around a mouthful of stinging trace toothpaste, and said, "I think we should take her in. But you're the one that'll have to deal with the past, so I can't make the decision for you."

"I'm worried about Milo. I mean, we don't know this girl; she could be a delinquent for all we know!" The sink was running now, and Kate squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for Rick's response.

"You said that the social worker had checked up on you? Then she knows about Milo. And she, if she's any good at her job, wouldn't be putting us into a situation where his safety would be threatened. I think it's a good idea. But it's ultimately up to you."

Kate groaned, "There's a shit load of paperwork to get you registered as a foster parent. And what about long term?"

"We play it by ear, huh? See what happens and go from there."

...

The forms were easy, and the vetting startling simple. It may have been due in part to already being registered as emergency fosters, but Kate had a sneaking, sinking suspicion that it was that easy for everyone.

Rick held her hand the entire time, until she gently disentangled it to sign her name on the bottom of the final paper and slide it across the newly cleaned desk to Dana, who grinned and said happily, "This is fantastic! So, Carly's current fosters, the Greenes, are pushing to have her out of there by the end of the month– they're pregnant, and want all the foster kids out, so I'll set up a meeting for Monday evening? Is that okay?"

The question flew right over Kate's head, as she was busy staring at the pile of papers that they were given, so Rick answered, "Yeah! Monday's great, right?" He nudged his wife gently with his elbow, and she nodded absentmindedly. Throughout the previous few days, she'd been doing that a lot; getting lost in her own mind and going through the motions of what was expected of her.

They'd told Alexis and Martha the day before, and Kate had driven up to her father's cabin after that (_that_ had been a fun conversation), so immediate family was taken care of. It was the team, her boys and Lanie, hell, even Gates, to maybe explain why she'd be taking a few days off, they were the ones that she'd have a difficulty explaining the situation to.

She squeezed her husband's knee, and was suddenly so glad she wasn't facing this alone.

...

* * *

**im human trash i really am. this was supposed to be up last september? im a hella fuckin mess. ask my friends-they will back me up on this. big shout out to alexis who keeps reminding me about this, and bigger shout out to tequila because hell fuckin yeah. **

**housekeeping: i have ten chapters written currently, with a planned forty/fifty chapters in all. phase one is ten chapters, phase two is fifteen/twenty, phase three is fifteen/twenty. i plan to write ahead and post one chapter every saturday until completion (or until i explode from stress, whichever comes first)**

**universe notes: i've moved the original timeline down a few years. where carly was once thirteen, she is now fifteen, turning sixteen. non-spoiler bits of info i can give are as follows: elena is featured prominently, liam is present, there is no mason currently, carly is not a dancer, but a runner. caskett has an adorable little baby boy named milo, about two/three years old. martha and alexis both have their own places of residence. i think that covers it!**

**review? comments, questions, concerns? because i have many concerns and so many questions.**


	2. pretending to not feel alone

**disclaimed**

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...

The base thumped hypnotically in the small apartment, the air hazy with smoke from not quite legal pipes. Carly wondered idly if the smell would permeate the couch, and if she'd have to smell it every time she sat down.

Liam digging his fingers into her hips drew her out of her pointless reverie, and she turned, dragging her ass across him as slowly as she liked, eliciting a groan in response and she smile impishly, sliding her arms up around his neck. Liam's fingers were hooked into the waistband of her shorts now, digging in so hard that she knew she'd have bruises.

She could tell from the way he growled her name when she slipped her hands down from his neck and into his back pockets that she wouldn't be dancing for much longer, if he had his way, and, to be honest, he always had his way.

He leaned down to kiss her roughly, and Carly smiled against his lips, complying as he tugged her away from the crowd and down the short hallway to their room. It was his bedroom, technically, as she wasn't legally living with him, and since she wasn't legally allowed to leave the foster system, but since she was there almost every day, anyway, and since most of her clothes were there, in her half of the closet and her drawers, it was deemed their room, and their apartment, and etc.

Liam's hand at the back of her neck, drawing her to him, brought her out of her thoughts, and grinning, she slipped her hands underneath the thin material of his shirt. He groaned again, his hands slipping around her thighs and gripping hard, lifting her up to his height, and Carly reacted on instinct, legs wrapping around his narrow hips, ankles locking at the small of his back. Her back slammed against the wall, but she wasn't too worried about the partygoers hearing them over the music.

Liam drew her attention back with a searing kiss, and Carly grinned against him.

...

Later, she sat up next to him in bed, her laptop casting a blue glow on her in the dark. The party had long since ended, but she was still awake, buzzing with a nervous energy she associated with nights, now.

Liam mumbled in his sleep, rolling on his side, away from her, and arm over his eyes, shielding him from the light, and Carly smirked. He could sleep through an earthquake, if he was tired enough. And after what they did during the party…well, he'd be sleeping for a while. But the silence was nice, and it gave Carly some time to herself.

The apartment's heating was busted, and in the cool autumn air, Carly shivered. Which, considering her state of undress, was warranted. She very carefully slipped out of the bed, the laptop sliding off her lap onto the sheets.

That hallway was even colder, and without Liam radiating heat, Carly felt frozen and sluggish, fighting the immediate urge to go and curl up next to him. She came out here for a reason, she reminded herself. In the carnage of the party, she spied her old NYU sweatshirt in a crumpled heap in the corner. Tiptoeing over crushed Solo cups and what she guessed was vomit, Carly snatched it up and slipped it over her mostly unclothed torso.

The sweatshirt, well-loved and a pleasant faded violet, had been her mother's, and was one of the few things that Carly had been allowed to take with her after her brother ran out and she was shoved unceremoniously into the system. There had been a time when it had reached her knees, and hung off her curve-less frame, but those days were long gone now, and, clothed in only that sweatshirt and her underwear, Carly returned to the bedroom to find something warm to put on her pale legs.

In the end, she resorted to finding the oldest and smallest pair of Liam's sweatpants and rolling the waistband over multiple times. They still fell to her low hip, but with the sweater, it was mostly okay, with only a thin strip of skin was visible to the biting air.

Her phone was on the dresser, beneath what looked like today's mail (or last week's. It was hard to tell with Liam). When the screen lit up, Carly saw that she had missed three calls, one from her foster mother, and two from Elena. A glance at the clock told her that Deanna wouldn't be answering her phone any time soon, but that Elena would probably still be up, so that's whose call she returned.

Elena only sounded vaguely pissed off when she answered. "Finally checking your messages, Curly?" Carly smirked and slipped out into the hallway again, padding into the living room and sprawling out onto a cleaner portion of the couch, left uncovered by partyers.

"You left me a message?" she asked sweetly, knowing full well that there were two ignored messages sitting in her inbox, but getting Elena annoyed was just so much fun, she couldn't resist. Elena sighed heavily, and Carly laughed a little. Pushing Elena's buttons was one of her favorite pastimes, and recently, she had rarely gotten the chance.

Elena made a noise of disgust and asked, "Does my annoyance amuse you? Never mind, I know the answer to that. Anyway, your foster mom called to harass me about your whereabouts. I guess your social worker called or something? Anyway, she was flipping her shit over it, and wants you to call her and to come straight home. But I guess that's a moot point, now. Are you at Liam's?"

Carly rolled her eyes at the disapproval in her friend's tone, but answered honestly and braced herself for the inevitable barrage of holier-than-thou lecturing. When it didn't come, Carly asked, "Ellie? You still alive?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Still breathing. Do you need a ride to the park tomorrow? My mom has some errands to run, and she's willing to take you."

Carly let her eyes slide shut as she imagined sitting in the back of Elena's mother's car, enduring her probing questions. She loved Mrs. Daniels; truly, she did. But sometimes that woman's mothering was a bit much too handle, especially when she was trying to wrangle her fuck me hair into a ponytail.

"No thanks," she answered finally. "Liam will take me."

A lie, she knew. Liam rarely ventured out of Queens, except for a deal or if she was drunk and stuck somewhere, and even then she'd have to promise him head for a month. But, she thought as she checked the room for her subway pass and came up empty, she could probably take a cab or something.

"Liam will take you straight to hell, hon. Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

"I'm sure, Ellie," Carly soothed, wandering into the small kitchen and rifling through the cupboards in search of a snack. "I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"You'll see me at Mass, on Sunday? Right? I mean, you are still Catholic, right?"

"Weren't you on an Ortho kick, like, yesterday?"

"It was all in Russian. I'm sticking with my dad on this one. Mom was so disappointed."

"You fickle bitch," Carly said in faux horror.

"Shut up. Seriously though. Father Patrick is starting to wonder if you've abandoned us."

"Father Patrick needs to mind his own business."

"Father Patrick is just worried about you, you know. And it wouldn't hurt for you to go to confession every once in a while." Carly made a face to the wall, and rolled her eyes as Elena said, "Stop making a face."

Carly groaned, because, knowing her friend, the only way she'd get Elena off her back was to either lie or give her what she wanted. And, quite honestly, Carly was too tired to lie. She said unhappily, "I'll go to mass, and confession after, alright? We can get lunch after that."

"Do you want to sleepover that night?"

Carly was beginning to get annoyed. Elena knew full well that she spent Sunday nights at Liam's, but since she had always disapproved of him, she stopped at nothing to try and cut into their time together. "Maybe, okay Ellie? I'll see if I can."

"Fine. Call your foster mom in the morning. She was flipping out. Promise?"

"Promise. See you on Sunday."

Not wanting to listen to her friend any longer, Carly hung up and returned to the bedroom, leaving her phone on the counter. Liam was in the same position as when she left, and Carly sighed. She wasn't going to get much work done tonight, that much she knew for sure. So, she slammed shut her laptop and slid it under the covers.

Liam cracked one eye open to peer at her, and he mumbled, "Jesus, go to sleep already."

Carly smirked and reached out to stroke his hair, ignoring him when he slapped at her hand, and said, "You're so cute when you're tired."

"Go the fuck to sleep." It was obvious he wasn't going to play ball.

"…Fine," she muttered, yanking her sweatshirt off and ditching the pants as well, sliding into bed and curling up in the curve of Liam's body.

...

The cab was grubby and smelled of smoke and was nothing less than what Carly expected when she slid into it at five thirty in the morning. She was dressed for running, but her sports bra was uncomfortably tight, and she kept twisting to adjust it. She could see the driver eyeing her in the mirror, and she said lightly, "Eyes on the road, sir." He swerved hard, startled by her noticing him, and from then on, she had no problems.

It cost a pretty penny to get her to Central Park from Queens, but after an hour of traffic, Carly shoved a twenty at him and dashed for the center of the park, ignoring his protests and accusations of her stiffing him. She'd seen the meter, and had figured that her denying him a peep show would cause him to add another twenty to it, so she improvised.

Whatever-she'd never claimed to be a saint.

Finally, she heard Ruby's distinct trill of laughter, and she slowed to a walk, following the sound. She saw Tyler first, his blond head towering above Ruby's red one. Emma and Dylin stood next to them, and Reggie wasn't too far away, keeping a watchful eye on his girlfriend.

Quite honestly, though Carly had a decidedly soft spot in her heart for the bubbly Ruby, she had yet to figure out why Reggie stayed with her. Ruby cheated about as much as Liam did, and, unlike Carly, Reggie was a good person, who had other options. Maybe there was something to be said about love.

Either way, not wanting to contemplate her friends' love lives, Carly shouted a greeting and walked towards the group, finding herself swept up into a bone crushing, breath stealing hug that Ruby was so known for. It wasn't as if they had just seen each other the week before, for running and lunch or anything. With Ruby, it was always as if you hadn't seen each other for years. It was sort of nice, Carly mused, disentangling herself gently.

Tyler offered her a smile, his hair falling into his clear blue eyes as his shoulders hunched. He towered above them all, Carly especially, as she stood at a scant 5'1" and he was at least a foot taller than her, but was always doing that; shrinking up and trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

Carly did it too, she realized, but she had no business being alive anyway, had skirted death more than once, and felt like leaving too much of a mark on the world would be pushing it. Tyler had reasons to take up space, to claim what was his. It always annoyed her when he didn't.

Reggie gave her a mock salute and she stuck her tongue out at him in response. That was all they really had time for, before the coaches, Mary and Marshall, a married couple whose children were grown, jogged over, and Mary shouted, "Come on, my lovelies! Let's get this party started!"

Carly drifted towards Tyler, like she always did, because they were the only ones that could keep pace with each other, and M&M (the shortest way to refer to the well-oiled machine that was their coaches) had a strict Buddy-Run Policy. They knew that with upwards of twenty kids and teenagers in their group at any given time, there was no way to keep track of them all, so they enforced the rule that everyone had to have a partner to keep pace with.

People paired off depending on their skill level, and Carly, who ran to forget, and Tyler, who ran to remember, were the fastest, each trying (and failing) to outrun their demons, so it was natural for them to partner.

As the group stretched, Carly nudged him with her hip, which came up to his mid-thigh, a fact that utterly irritated her. Of all the things she could have gotten in the genetic roulette that was her DNA, she had to inherit all the short genes? She shuddered to think that she might be the tall one of her biological family.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had dreamed of being tall and graceful instead of short and compact, a ballerina rather than a gymnast. Such dreams seemed long gone, she thought as she leaned to her side, fingers wrapped around the tip of her shoe. When she was thirteen, her periods had evened out, and her doctor had declared her growing done.

Ugh.

They finished stretching, her and Tyler, and, with a warning called to M&M, they jogged off into the trees. Carly glanced up at Tyler, at the lazy way he held himself as he ran, and scoffed inwardly.

Six years they'd been running together, the longest relationship with someone of the opposite sex that had remained sexless, that she'd managed to not ruin, and she still couldn't fathom how he could run like that, relaxed and loose, not bothering to tuck his arms into his sides as was the proper form.

No one really did, just her, she thought idly, keeping her elbows tucked just under her ribcage, and trying to ignore the painful chafing that was her running bra at the moment. Tyler asked genially, "How's Liam?"

"Huh?" Carly panted, losing focus on the pounding of her feet against the pavement and stumbling. Tyler caught her, of course, and Carly was struck with how warm he was, against her ice-water doused skin. Not the uncomfortable heat of Liam, like a flame that jumped too close, but the pleasant warmth of hot tea sliding down your throat, warming you from the inside out-

what the hell was she thinking?

Carly jerked back, brushing off Tyler's concern with a wave of her hand. "He's fine," she finally answered, slowly resuming their previous pace. "How's your mom? Your sisters?"

"They're good. Jackie's almost due."

Tyler, the only boy in a clan of girls, was about to be outnumbered yet again, as his eldest sister was pregnant with her first child –a girl, what else?– and Carly was worried about him in an abstract way, since he was the last man standing after his father had left, and brother had died.

He refused to talk about it.

Carly didn't talk about her problems, either.

They spent a lot of time running in silence, and it worked well enough for them. Their friendship was based off of it, a silent companionship that was built in the quiet looks they sent each other when one tripped and the other picked them up carefully, checking them over for cuts or bruises that might actually require more than some Band-Aids.

They picked up their pace once again, and fell into the easy silence that was their normal. Soon, it was just them and the path in front of them.

...

Her heels clicked and clacked down the sidewalk as Carly hurried towards the massive church at the corner. She was about ten minutes late to morning Mass, thanks to Liam suddenly being in an amorous mood when he had woken up, setting back her schedule by a good twenty minutes and thoroughly annoying her by the end of it, when he was quite pleased and she was just sweaty and flushed and utterly frustrated.

Finally, she approached the intimidating doors of the church, and she crossed herself quickly before slipping in. People were still milling around, she noted gratefully, indicating that Mass would be starting late again. There was a pile of coats in her path, which she stepped around carefully.

She spied Elena near the front with her head down, and headed towards her. Elena looked up when she drew near, and as Carly sat down next to her and readjusted her cardigan, Elena commented quietly, "Jeez, boobs much?"

Gritting her teeth, Carly responded, "Laundry day. It was the only dress I had at Liam's."

"God save your soul."

"And yours, Miss. Above the Knee." Elena glanced down at her own hemline for a change, and blushed a shade of tomato that clashed with her blonde hair horridly. Carly said as much, and received a discreet middle finger and a dirty look in response.

After a moment, Elena asked, "Where's your rosary?" She eyed her friend's bare neck disapprovingly.

Carly lifted her hand to her throat, asking, "Huh?"

"Your rosary. You're not wearing it."

"Oh, um, I lost it."

"Seriously? Jesus, Carly, you're killing me."

A lady behind them admonished Elena harshly for taking the Lord's name in vain, and the girls, united by a new common enemy, shared a secret smile and let the topic rest. An area of contention between the friends had and always would be Carly's growing disinterest in their shared religion. It was something that had united them when they were younger, the only girls in a Sunday school of boys, and was something that Elena relied heavily on. Carly was growing much more lenient with her prayers and confessions and overall worship, and Elena, she thought, felt set adrift by the change.

Whatever, Carly thought hastily, bowing her head over her clasped hands to mutter a quick prayer, finishing just before Father Patrick walked out of his office, located off to the side of the pulpit.

Morning services began, and Carly stopped thinking.

...

She had lied just a little to Elena. She had told her that she was going to confession, when, really, she was sneaking out the back door and climbing to the roof of the neighboring building to smoke.

She always did, because the amount of time that it would take to confess all her sins was time she didn't have to waste. Besides, she was sure she couldn't remember half of them anyway.

After smoking two cigarettes, Carly snuffed the last one out and pulled her phone out of her bag, dialing her foster mother's number and waiting impatiently, running her thumb up and down across the worn metal. She'd had her phone for four years, and it hadn't been new when she'd gotten it. But it was a Nokia, and built to last, and last it would. She didn't text much, anyway.

Deanna answered breathlessly, and as Carly greeted her, she snapped, "You need to get your ass here. Your social worker found a new place, and you need to get your shit together and be ready to leave."

"Nice to talk to you, too, Deanna."

They both knew that this was basically a courtesy call, because everything that Carly cared about was either in a storage unit being paid for by her parents' estate or at Liam's.

Carly disconnected the call after a few moments of silence and lit up again. She murmured her confession into the smoke and let it blow away with the breeze, curling up, up, up, into clear sky.

...

Her foster home was actually a brownstone in Brooklyn, tall and thin and bursting at the seams from all the children packed inside it. There was a perpetually dank air to it, dark and foreboding when you entered, with little faces peering out of cracked doorways.

For all the drawbacks, it wasn't the worst place she'd been; at least it was relatively clean, and Deanna only really hit her when she was particularly mouthy, and she never hit the little kids, which was a big plus in her favor. Not the worst place, several steps below the best.

In Carly's opinion, the best places were reserved for cherub faced infants that would most likely end up going back to their young parents after they'd finished the mandatory twelve week parenting course that proved they were 'responsible guardians'. For the rest of them…well, those were the places Carly ended up.

The door was unlocked, and Carly sauntered in, calling out, "Honey, I'm home!" A couple of pairs of small feet pounded down the stairs, and Carly's de facto little brothers appeared around the corner of the landing, shoving each other on the way down.

There were twelve kids in the home, altogether. There was Carly, the twin boys David and Jason Karr, a pregnant seventeen year old named Krystal, a coke-fiend named Ferdinand, a quintet of siblings that only spoke to each other, and the two biological kids, Amanda and Dylan.

But because the bio kids wanted nothing to do with the foster kids, Krystal was busy trying to keep the father of her child happy, Ferdinand was no parental figure, and the actual parents didn't want to spare the time to take care of the love-deprived Karr twins, Carly had sort of assumed the role of mom and sister to them, making sure they got enough to eat and all that. If she really was moving…well she would have to hope that they'd be okay. Maybe she'd be able to convince Ferdinand to look after them, in return for favors.

Worries aside, the boys slammed into Carly, David coming up to just above her elbow, and Jason just below. They were six, and their dad had killed their mom in front of them, when they were three. Brutal murder it'd been, throat slashing and stab wounds to boot, and Carly thought that sometimes they would see it when they looked at her with her drug-induced bruises. They didn't like Liam either.

So far, she'd been able to pull strings with people to keep the boys together, and, if possible, with her, but there were only so many people she knew, and only so many favors she could arrange. And, to be quite honest, she had a feeling that this would be the time her favors wouldn't be enough.

She brushed aside these thoughts for a moment, wrapping her arms around them and squeezing lightly, asking in a brusque tone, "Have you eaten yet?"

David started, "No, we–," and his brother cut in, saying, "Deanna and Gary went out to dinner with their kids."

Carly frowned, because usually they included the twins in their plans, their hearts softening to them and none else, but she said lightly, "So, McDonalds?"

...

She figured about half of the people in the restaurant thought that the boys were hers, judging by the disgusted looks she was getting. Never mind them, she told herself, as she reminded Jason to eat all his apples before his hamburger. David was making his McNuggets walk around the little area Carly had covered in napkins for him, and she was torn between telling him to knock it off and eat, and letting him continue. It wasn't often David smiled like that.

In the end, the softie in her won out, and she watched with a bemused smile, barely touching her own meal of fries and a coke. Thinking it over, she shoved the fries towards the center of the table and said, "Have at it," leaning back and sipping her coke as Jason lunged for the fries.

When the boys had finished eating, Carly sent them to the bathroom to wash up, and while she waited, she cleaned up the mess they'd left behind them. It was cold when they finally left, and Carly stopped them before they got too far and zipped up their jackets. She had the boys walk in front of her as well, keeping one eye on them and another on the people surrounding them.

They were safe enough here; Liam had enough of a reputation and she had enough notoriety as his girlfriend that most truly bothersome people knew not to bother her, but it was always something at the back of her mind. She had seen one too many episodes of SVU to feel completely comfortable.

Halfway back, David announced, "Deanna's having a baby."

Carly almost didn't hear him over the hum of activity around them, but when it processed, she tugged the boys into a mostly abandoned coffee shop and hissed, "What?"

David continued, "They told us when we got home from school."

Carly pressed a hand to her eyes and said tightly, "And you didn't tell me earlier. Of course." Of course. Of course, of course, of course. This explained everything. It explained why Ferdinand was going to trade school at the end of this year and it explained why the Greenes were so eager to get Krystal to either make up with her boyfriend or go to a halfway home and it explained why Carly was going to get moved. Dammit. That would mean that the boys were getting moved too, she realized angrily. Rarely did a foster couple get pregnant and not clear their house of all transients. "Okay," she breathed, tired and cold, and opened her eyes to see those little boys staring up at her.

"Okay," she repeated, stronger now. "Let's get back before midnight, kay?"

This time, she held their hands, and they barely made it another block before Jason asked, "Where are we getting moved, this time, Carly?"

She bit her lip and thought for a moment, before answering carefully, "I don't know."

"Are we gonna be with you again?"

She looked up at the sky for a minute and then said, "I don't know."

The rest of the walk was silent.

...

Sure enough, when the Greenes finally rolled in, the first thing Deanna said was, "We're having a baby!"

Carly looked up from her history textbook and glared. "Good for you," she spat, as Amanda and Dylan sent her twin scowls on their way up the stairs.

Gary, Carly's foster father, said in a low tone, "Caroline, you better respect Deanna or–."

"Or you'll move me? Hit me? Nothing I haven't seen before, Gare."

Deanna stepped forward and said angrily, "Now listen here, young lady–." "

Why should I? I mean, I'll be out of here in, what, a week? Two, at most, I'm guessing." "

While you are under our roof," Gary began, turning a dangerous shade of purple.

"I'll follow your rules," Carly finished for him, rolling her eyes. Her eyes were still rolling when Gary's hand cracked across her face. "Fantastic move, dipshit," she spat venomously, hand at her cheek to cool the pulse. "Fucking genius."

Deanna huffed, "What is this about? You were in a great mood when you left the house."

"You're kicking us all out," Carly said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "That means everyone, doesn't it? Me, Ferdinand, Krystal, the Franklin brats, and the twins. All of us."

The couple shared a look, Gary's face returning to its usual coloring as they did so, and Deanna said hesitantly, "Yes…"

"What's one more kid to the pile, though?"

"Carly, it's different–."

"Because it's your own kid, I know. But…the boys. I mean, they're just kids. I understand kicking the rest of us out, but the twins?"

"We can't afford a new baby, and those boys," Patrick said irritably, and Carly pursed her lips.

"Where are they going?" She kept her voice neutral, tried to rein in the emotion that was building, caught somewhere between anger and grief. D

eanna softened slightly, she thought, because when she answered, her voice was calm and smooth. "We don't know yet. Look, Carly, I know you care about those boys, but they'll be just fine–."

Carly snapped her eyes up to meet Deanna's. "Sure," she mumbled half-heartedly, too tired to fight more, "They'll be fine." She fled the room, heels of her hands coming up to press against her eyes before either of the adults could say anything to her.

...

The next day, she spent her time afterschool at a park around the corner from the house with the boys. They were six, still, she realized with a start, and, as of that day, she was the only permanent thing in their lives, aside from each other. And she had to tell them that they would be going to one home, and she to another, and she was never very good with goodbyes.

She leaned back against the bench, eyes trained on the twins as they played with the couple of kids that came there with their parents sometimes. Without notice, someone sat down heavily next to her. Carly glanced up to see her social worker staring at her, eyes wide and expectant. "What is it Dana?"

It's not that she didn't like her social worker; Dana was a pleasant woman, young and pretty with blonde hair that she kept up in messy buns all the time. She wasn't unlike what Carly remembered of her mother, and she was a damn sight better than any of the other workers Carly had been assigned to; this, however, did not mean that Carly liked seeing her every other day.

Dana grinned and said, "You thought you could avoid me, didn't you? Well, I'm smarter than your average bear, and I'm here to make sure you're going to be at the home after this. I'm bringing the newbies by to meet you. So, be on your best behavior?"

Carly rolled her eyes. "Mhmm. Sure, best behavior. Scout's honor. Can you go now?"

Dana glanced over to where the boys were, and she asked, "How're they taking it?"

"I haven't told them that we're going to different homes."

"Oh. Um, well… Oh! Did your foster parents tell you who I'm bringing by?"

Carly stayed silent when Dana obviously wanted something else, and so she continued. "It's your biological mother and her husband. They want to take you in." Dana was obviously expecting a better reaction, and when she didn't get one, she left, a goodbye thrown over her shoulder. Carly stared at a spot on the ground until her hands stopped shaking.


	3. a reasonable sacrifice

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

The house was clean.

That was about the only thing that Rick could distinguish in the dim lighting of the house, aside from the faint odor of wet dog. There were no toys and no books anywhere; actually, there wasn't much of anything, except a couple of overstuffed chairs and one bright orange couch, and an overlarge TV on a stand in the corner. But, according to Dana, ten foster children lived there, relatively happily.

The foster mother, Deanna Greene, met them at the door and led them in, calling up the stairs, "Carly, sweetie! They're here!" From above their heads, Rick heard the floor creak, and heard footsteps. Kate squeezed his hand and threw him a panicked look, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

A small boy appeared at the top of the landing, and informed them, "Carly wants me to tell you that she's on her way to Liam's and that she won't be back until she's a day away from eighteen and you can't do anything to her." It was obvious that he was repeating verbatim, his voice monotone and brow furrowed as he tried to remember.

"She hasn't left this house." Deanna glanced over her shoulder and smiled apologetically, saying, "I'll be right back. Make yourselves at home, please." She disappeared up the stairs, the boy following her closely. A moment later, they could hear muffled voices through the floor—"_Well, fuck them and fuck you too."—_, and then a door slammed.

And finally, a girl, someone who was unmistakably Kate's daughter rounded the corner of the landing and took the stairs, two at a time. "So you're them, huh?" she mused, peering at them through a fringe of dark lashes, eyes guarded. She really did look a lot like his wife, Rick thought as they stood there, a Mexican standoff if there ever was one. Not so much that it was scary, but enough to know that they had to be related. The same nose, and their eyes were shaped the same, though Carly's were brown where Kate's were a hazel color. Carly's face was fuller, rounder, but Rick could see that the shape was relatively the same as well, the chin strong and the cheekbones high, though hers slanted differently, giving her an altogether softer appearance.

Deanna rushed down, then, and herded everyone into the living room, her hand clamped on Carly's shoulder tight enough to make her fingertips blanch and Carly stumble slightly. Rick bristled instinctively, already protective of the girl, and when Deanna noticed his eyes on them, she let go of Carly's shoulder immediately. She then gestured to the couch, insisting, "Make yourselves comfortable."

A crash reverberated from upstairs, and everyone stiffened for a moment, even Carly, whose eyes went wide and lips pursed. She stage-whispered, a hint of mischief in her voice, "I may have left the door open to the boys' room."

Deanna made like she was about to say something, and Rick could see the anger building, could see it in the way she tensed, muscles coiled, and Carly didn't flinch but, almost invisibly, she clenched her jaw, and braced herself, and then he knew they had to get her out. _Soon_. Because people that are not abused do not brace themselves at even the slightest sign of anger. They do not shift in their seats, like they're ready to run.

Deanna restrained herself, it seemed, and stood, making excuses as she backed out of the room and, with a final warning to Carly—"Behave."—she disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.

Carly's lips twisted up into a smirk, and she said, staring up at the ceiling as she tracked the movements of the people upstairs, "I didn't actually leave any doors open. I had the boys break an old picture frame—make a crash without getting them in trouble." Her eyes glittered as she continued, her voice growing colder, "I wanted to talk to you without the vulture," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, towards the stairs, "hovering."

Kate's hand inched towards his, and Rick reached out, lacing his fingers through his wife's. He glanced over at her, and, seeing the fear in her eyes, in the way her jaw was set, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Carly, realizing that neither was about to start the conversation, sighed, "Look. I don't know what Dana did to guilt you into this, but I can promise you that walking out that door will not change her opinion of you at all. I can also promise that there will be no hard feelings on my part—hell, there'll be no feelings at all, because, quite honestly, I don't give a damn. You," she said, pointing at Kate, her nail polish a chipped blue, "You gave me up. Whatever. I gave up a kid too, so, you know, I get it. And you," she stated, rounding on Rick. "You got dragged into this. Sorry bro. But, you two can go on, get your Good Samaritan points for trying, beg off saying that I'm a bitch and that it would never work, because, let's be real; I am, and it wouldn't. If you need a story, tell Dana that I started talking about my record, and, like, guns or something."

There was a stunned silence that settled over the room, and Carly—Rick assumed that she must have thought that that was the end of it; she'd said her piece and now she could go. She stood to leave, turning gracefully on her heel and—

...

Kate shocked herself when she exclaimed, "Wait!"

Throughout all of Carly's speech, she had sat in a stunned silence, too nervous to interject and too ambivalent to want to. It was as if she was nineteen again, listening to other people making decisions for her, and that was not a place she ever wanted to return to. It was what caused this present situation, in the first place; the inability to make decisions for herself, allowing the grief and confusion and utter despair to render her weak and helpless—it had cost her her daughter. So she acted on instinct as Carly walked away.

Time slowed, and Carly seemed to freeze in place for a moment or longer (Kate, at this point, couldn't tell if time was running by too fast or far too slow). Then, slowly, carefully, deliberately, she turned around, kohl rimmed eyes narrowed and lips pressed in a thin line. Carly had obviously thought she was done.

Keeping her voice steady, Kate said deliberately, "We weren't guilted into coming, and we are not doing this for 'Good Samaritan points'. We're not leaving forever, Carly. We're coming to get you on Saturday. So, you can go into it with that attitude, that it will never work, or you can _try_ to give it a shot."

"Are you trying to _parent_ me?" Carly was incredulous, and Kate rushed to say, "No, but—."

"Because it sure as hell sounds like it. It sounds like you think that just because you have a badge and a rich husband, you can swoop in and insert yourself into my life and tell me what to do, because I obviously need guidance! I'm in the foster system for god's sake! Obviously I'm in need of _guidance_!"

Carly was yelling now, arms crossed over her chest, and Kate could see the black ink of a tattoo peeking out from under the edge of her long sleeved t-shirt. Her tone was full of ice when she said, "I've never been one for a homestead, _Mrs. Castle_. I've never wanted for a warm home and loving parents—the first set was enough, thank you. I don't want love and I don't want your fucking guidance, okay?"

She spun around and stormed out, and Kate could hear her yelling on her way up the stairs, "Jesus Christ, motherfucking _do-gooders_ don't have enough fucking charity cases-"

A door slammed violently, shaking the walls, and a moment later, Deanna materialized, her face pinched tight and she was wringing her hands. "She—um," she began, searching for the right words.

Kate remained stoic, eyes focusing on the spot where Carly had once stood, and she bit the inside of her cheek. She'd thought about something like that happening—expected it even. She hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did; it felt like someone had taken a rusty knife and was trying to take a look inside her heart with it.

"She's got a temper," Deanna finished lamely, biting her lip. "I'll tell Dana that it didn't work—that Carly threw a fit, the whole thing. She does that a lot, you know. You're probably dodging a bullet." Seeing Kate's blank expression, and Rick's eyes trained on his wife, she added, probably in an attempt to soothe, "She'll go to MIG—Manhattan Institute for Girls. It's a fine facility, clean and all. It'll be good for her."

Rick kept his eyes on Kate, and without looking Kate knew that he was leaving the decision to her. She bit her lip. Closed her eyes. She heard Deanna's feet shuffle, and she made the choice. Kate opened her eyes.

"Tell Dana that we'll be in to see her tomorrow about the paperwork. And that we'll be here on Saturday to pick Carly up."

...

She ran to Liam's—which, really, shouldn't be a surprise. She was always good at running from things.

That night, Carly murmured into Liam's shoulder, curled up in the curve of his body, "I'm moving again."

"Where to, babe?" he asked sleepily, his voice thick.

"Nowhere special," she lied smoothly. Snoring greeted her.


	4. swim until you're free

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Elena found out in her usual fashion—she cornered Carly at in the girls' bathroom the next morning, when she was applying her lipstick, and yanked the tube from her hands and held it above her head until she told her. Carly had wanted to hold out on her, had wanted to keep this to herself for a while longer, but she wasn't wearing heels or a good bra, and therefore jumping for her lipstick was out of the question.

So, she told her.

After regaling her best friend of the showdown that had taken place in the Greenes' living room, Elena had slid her lipstick across the counter to her, leaning back against the sinks and asking, "How're you handling it?"

Carly shot her a look and responded, "How do you think?" Elena pursed her lips, and Carly hissed, "Knock it off."

"Are we seriously never going to talk about it? You _overdosed_, Carly. You nearly died."

"I didn't, though."

"But you almost did. And considering your lack of healthy outlets, I think I'm allowed to worry."

"It's fine, Ellie. _I'm _fine. Really, I am."

Carly knew that it was a low blow, using her childhood nickname, the one that Carly herself had given Elena when they were three and had declared themselves best friends. But it worked in softening her friend, who backed down just long enough for Carly to finish fixing her makeup. After several beats, Elena segued awkwardly, "Did you finish the English paper?"

Carly shot her a dark look, muttering as she leaned forward over the counter and tried to catch the clump of mascara on her lashes, "Don't remind me."

"If I don't," Elena sighed, crossing her arms, "who will?"

...

The college counselor called her to his office, as Carly suspected he would when she didn't turn in the essay and her teacher inevitably emailed him.

Mr. Gerard's office was tiny to say the least, and, as Carly squeezed around a stack of boxes, she regretted ever asking about taking some accelerated courses. Regretted it a ridiculous amount more than she had when she had first taken on the course work that would get her up to par, and regretted it more than she had when she realized that there would be no way she'd ever get it all done.

She sat in a small folding chair, a stack of old yearbooks teetering on the edge of the desk in front of her dangerously. Mr. Gerard, a small man in height and a large man in width, peered at her from behind cloudy bottle-cap glasses, his eyes clear and blue and searching.

Carly bit her lip, wanting to say something, to explain why her paper was not on his desk, neatly stapled with her name signed in the right hand corner because she always forgot to write it before she printed. But, against her better nature, she stayed silent, waiting for him to initiate the conversation, to gauge how upset he was.

He was, in fact, quite upset.

"I don't know how you expect me to keep going to bat for you, when you _don't. do. the. work._"

Carly tucked her hands under her thighs, tightening her fingers until she felt her nails through her jeans. She'd have bruises tomorrow, she realized, if not by tonight.

"Carly, you're never going to go anywhere if you don't put in the effort! At this point, there's no way you're getting into the accelerated courses, and I have half a mind to not let you in next year, as well!"

"I know—," she began, voice low and steady, the only outward sign that she was as upset as Mr. Gerard.

"Do you know? Do _you_? You're a bright girl, Carly, and I would love to see you get into an Ivy League and cure cancer or something, but you're inherently _lazy_. Laziness and Ivy Leagues do not mix! They just don't. Do you understand?"

Carly nodded shortly, biting her lip. "Good," Mr. Gerard said, sighing as he leaned back in his seat. "Glad to know that we're on the same page here. Back to class with you."

He waved her out, and Carly rushed out, disrupting a pile of papers on the edge of the file cabinet near the door. She didn't stop—instead she threw the door closed behind her and ran to the nearest bathroom.

_Am I crying_? she wondered, bringing a hand up to check her cheeks for-

She wasn't, thank god, but as she pushed open the door to the girls' restroom, she could feel herself on the edge of an attack, which, most of the time, guaranteed crying. She stumbled to the handicapped stall and, clutching the railing that ran along the wall, she slid to the floor.

Lazy.

He'd called her lazy.

Told her she'd never make anything of herself. That she and Ivy Leagues didn't mix. Carly bit her lip until she tasted blood. Her head started pounding, and she had a sinking suspicion that if she tried standing, she'd fall. The room spun, the pounding reached a crescendo.

She was hoping that a piece of the ceiling might fall and kill her where she crouched.

It wasn't that she had delusions of grandeur. She knew that out of high school, she would move in with Liam and probably end up knocked up but the end of the year, married by the next. A couple of more babies with his eyes and her hair, the dominant traits from their combined gene pool of defective parents and mental illnesses, with names of Catholic saints because it would be clichéd and all too perfect for her.

He'd maybe get a straight job, but more likely be in and out of jail more times than she'll let the kids know. Tell them that daddy's on a business trip, dodge their questions about career day. Work a soul-sucking job as a waitress or a temp or, hell, maybe a pro, to make ends meet.

That was her future, and she knew it.

But—

she wanted something that those handful of kids with brown eyes and dark hair and heavy hearts could hold onto. Something to show them that their mom wasn't a complete loser, wasn't just some punk from the system that got knocked up too young and couldn't leave the ass whose name was on the paternity test.

She wanted to have proof that she could have made something of herself, wanted to prove to herself that she _wasn't_ just some kid from the system. She wanted the option of something better, wanted to convince herself until graduation, until that test came back positive, that she could make it out of Liam's apartment, could make it out of the grave she'd dug herself. That she could make something of herself.

Now…now she stopped crying, pulling her sleeves down over her hands and using them to wipe her cheeks before she yanked herself up off the ground, dusting her ass off before walking back out and washing her hands and face, cleaning up the raccoon eyes left from streaking mascara.

She realized a little too late that she's used waterproof eyeliner, and regular mascara. Damn. So that meant either she have clumpy eyelashes, or no mascara when she had full eyeliner.

It occurred to her later, when she walked out, having salvaged her makeup for the day, that after having a panic attack, she probably shouldn't have been worrying so much over her makeup. But, sliding into her seat in third period science, when Elena didn't even give her a second glance, the small victory was exactly what she needed.

...

Milo accepted the news with no protest, but, considering he was two, barely, it wasn't unexpected. Alexis, though she rushed off the phone soon after, seemed to accept it as well, though she did say she wanted to talk to them more about it, talk to Kate more about it when she came down in a couple of weeks. Martha was excited at the prospect of having another girl to go shopping with—though Kate was willing, her enthusiasm was lacking. It was Jim Beckett that had concerns.

Kate met him for breakfast at a diner in the town near his cabin, and when she walked in, she could tell that their conversation would not be an easy one. She was right, of course. As soon as she sat down, her father asked, "Is this really a good idea, Katie?"

She sighed and put off answering what was most likely a rhetorical question by ordering coffee. Finally, after a long moment, she said simply, "She has Mom's eyes."

Her answer stumped her father for a moment, she thought. He'd been blackout drunk for the first few years after Johanna's death, effectively missing Kate's pregnancy and subsequent surrender of the child. When he'd gotten sober, Kate had given him the details he'd wanted ("Was she a long baby? You know, you were twenty three inches long; your mother and I always knew you'd be tall", "Did she have a lot of hair? You were bald until you were two").

However, he had always been resolute in his opinion that neither he nor Kate should revisit that time of their lives, as it had been a dark time all around. But that was before she met Carly, before she saw the dozens of scars that littered her face, before she heard Carly's bitter, numbed tone of voice, before she'd seen the way her foster mother treated her.

"You should have seen her, Dad," Kate murmured. "She's _tiny_, but she looks so much like Mom. Even the way she walked out—you know how Mom would leave a room after we had an argument? Case closed, no if's, and's, or but's? I can't—I can't just leave her there."

"I understand that. But will _you _be okay?"

"I'll adjust."

"I didn't ask if you'd adjust, Katherine. I asked if you'd be okay."

"I—I don't know. I think I will?"

"That a question?" She really hated this part of her father, from when she was a little girl. When he wouldn't just accept the answer she gave him, when he pressed for more.

"I'll be okay. I have to be." He made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat, but let it drop when her coffee arrived.

...

Carly's week passed in a blur. One minute it was Monday, and she was panicking in a bathroom stall, and the next it was Friday, and she was stretched out on Elena's bed, staring up at the ceiling while she waited for her friend to return with food. They had a standing date one Friday a month, where they went over to Elena's house and sat around in their pajamas, crying over movies and stuffing their faces with as much food as possible. Carly had canceled last month, citing an unavoidable emergency (read: she had a nasty bruise on her arm, that would not be overlooked), so Elena had been adamant that she show up this time.

Another minute of silence and the door to the bedroom finally opened. Elena swept in, balancing the tray of food on her hip as she closed the door and grinned.

"Okay," she breathed, setting the tray on the ground and collapsing next to Carly. "I've wiped out the entire kitchen."

"Your mom's okay with that?"

"Probably not. But she understands," she answered briskly, setting about arranging their snacks with military precision.

Carly smirked and tilted her head to glance at her friend. Elena was tall and blonde and had classical Russian looks; she was one of the reasons Carly had always assumed she had Russian blood somewhere in her heritage. People used to ask if they were sisters, back when Elena was brunette, thanks to some similarities. But, now that they were older, it was glaringly obvious that Elena was the prettier of the two; her features finer, her eyes bigger, her lips fuller. The type of girl who you would hate, if not for the fact that she was a giant sweetheart.

Occasionally she did hate her. But that was mostly when she nagged her about Liam or pills or therapy or whatever else she nagged her for. For a best friend, Elena acted a hell of a lot like a mother.

"Hey, Curly?" Elena settled next to her.

"Yeah?" She moved closer, leaning her head on Elena's shoulder. Elena's hand came up automatically, reaching across to stroke Carly's hair.

"Are you really okay with this? This whole bio-mom fiasco?"

"No. I want her to leave me alone. I want to dye my hair blue again. But mostly I want her to leave me alone."

"I can make that happen. Dad still has friends over at social services."

"No. I want her to back down. Admit that I'm not what she thought. I want the satisfaction of winning."

"But she's a cop right? Couldn't backing down take a really long fucking time?"

"No. She's weak. She'll cave quick."

"And then we graduate."

"And then _I _get a job as a waitress, and _you_ get a job as an award winning actress and you never forget your best friend."

"_Or_, I get a job as an award winning actress, and you fix America."

"I don't like politics."

"You _lie_!"

"Not lying. Can I have food now?" She could practically feel Elena rolling her eyes.

"Sure, Piggy." Elena rolled off the bed and settled into the pillows on the ground, patting a spot next to her as she searched for the remote. When Carly curled up next to her friend, Elena offered, "Horror or comedy?"

_Tragedy_, Carly thought immediately, startling herself. "Um, something we can play a drinking game with?"

Elena cast her a doubtful look, but picked out something and nodded towards the food tray, where there was a bottle of wine. "Really? Nothing stronger?"

"I'm not getting you drunk the night before you move in with your superhero bio-mom and her famous husband."

"Ugh. And I thought we were friends."

Carly ducked the remote that was launched at her head.


	5. seven nation army

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Carly, unfortunately, was not drunk enough the night before to warrant a hangover, which would be her best excuse for being a bitch today, and it was all because Elena was a freaking saint.

And so, it was with only a slight headache and a severe case of bitchiness that Carly got onto the subway, back towards the Greenes'. The ride was uneventful, though one man sat a bit too close for Carly to be completely comfortable. Some days she really kind of wished that Liam would have the decency to provide her transportation.

This was one of them.

When her stop came up, she slipped away from the man, squeezing between two women who had been studiously avoiding looking at her. The door slid open, and Carly tumbled out, all elbows, clearing a path for her towards the stairs. She was halfway up when she remembered that she hadn't said goodbye to the boys—hadn't even told them she was leaving.

Stuttering out a breath, she stalled on the stairs, moving only when someone shouldered her out of their way.

_Fuck_.

She was a terrible person.

Slowly, she began walking again, dreading arriving at the Greenes', because then she would have to break the news. But, eventually, she did arrive. She found the boys in the living room, eyes glued to the TV, and she padded up behind them softly.

Switching off the television, Carly murmured, "Hey guys? Can I talk to you?" David turned around to face her first, his eyes wide. Jason's face was tear streaked when he turned. "I—fuck," she sat down.

"They told you already, didn't they?" Neither responded, but Jason's accusatory glare was answer enough. "I—," Carly began, stopping abruptly as she struggled for words.

Jason spat with as much venom as a six year old could summon, "You're gonna leave us."

"No, Jason, it's not that—." Before she could finish her sentence, he was gone, running out of the room and up the stairs at top speed. Carly almost stood to chase after him, but she remembered that David hadn't said a word yet. She turned to face him, and found his little face screwed up with the effort it took to hold back tears.

She kept her voice gentle. "You know I wouldn't leave you, if I had a choice, right?"

He nodded, his jaw clenching as he crawled into her lap.

...

Eventually she had to throw her stuff into a bag. David helped, Jason hid. When Carly couldn't find a shirt of hers, she figured either he or David had grabbed it. That sort of broke her heart, and she hated Katherine Beckett more than ever. But then time ran out, and she had ten minutes before Dana was supposed to show up with the Castles, and she'd been holding David, letting him cry for an hour, and Jason stumbled into the room.

David scrambled out of her lap, settling next to her to make space for his brother. Her brother.

She couldn't _not_ love them.

Carly realized that from the moment she'd met them, they'd always be hers; her brothers, her boys. A hard knot of bitter anger formed in the pit of her stomach, and she lifted Jason into her lap and cradled him close to her. This world would chew them up and spit them out, and there was nothing she could do about it anymore.

"I'll check up on you guys," she promised, reaching out to draw David into the huddle. "You'll still see me, okay? And you guys'll get a good home—nice parents, maybe a dog. Alright?"

Jason buried his head in her shoulder, and she felt tears drip onto the front of her shirt. Carly kissed his crown gently, wincing when she heard the door open downstairs.

She would not cry.

_She_ _would not cry_.

More importantly, she would not let anyone see her cry. Least of all the Castles.

"Okay," she breathed, holding the boys tighter for a moment before sliding them to the floor. "Okay," she repeated. "We're going to be okay. You guys are gonna be strong okay? My strong little men."

She kissed them each, squeezing their hands, so small in her own, and then she shouldered her bag. When the door shut behind her, she almost broke down. But then Deanna called up the stairs—"Carly, get down here! You're leaving!"—and she swallowed it, biting down on her arm until she tasted blood and the surge of emotion passed.

A quick check in the hall mirror was enough to assure her that her makeup was impeccable, as always, and with a final deep breath, she gathered her nerve and walked down purposefully.

Dana was the first person she saw, then Deanna, all charm and warmth. She caught a glimpse of Gary, standing off to the right of his wife, with their children tucked under his arms. They must have really wanted to make a good impression on the Castles, if they got their kids involved. Krystal passed through the room, and she winked at Carly, smiling slightly as she nibbled whatever her most recent craving had called for. And finally, as Carly rounded the corner of the landing, she saw the Castles.

Objectively, she loved Katherine's hair. It wasn't particularly styled, but it was doing everything Carly had ever wanted her own hair to do; it fell in loose waves and didn't seem to be frizzing at all. Objectively, she wished that she'd inherited that hair, the pretty chestnut color and loose waves, and didn't have to deal with the muddy mess of curls she had.

_Subjectively,_ however, she wanted to rip her fucking face off. Or, at least, throw something at her and run away, Jason and David in tow.

But then Dana spotted her, and, her voice echoing in the small foyer, she said, "Carly! Awesome, you're here."

"Said I would be," she responded evenly, taking the last few steps slowly, placing her feet deliberately.

Dana flitted around for a minute, having the Greenes officially sign away their physical guardianship and having the Castles sign for it, and Carly, from her spot in the corner by the bottom of the stairs, felt only a little like an object, something to be owned and sold and traded. She wondered if other foster kids felt the same way sometimes.

She only had one bag, a battered duffel that had been allotted to her when she first entered the foster system. Then, it had been stuffed with things that the state workers who had collected her had deemed important to bring—a pack of underwear from Kmart, a few shirts, a pair of jeans, a dress.

Carly had broken into her then-taped off house—with the help of her neighbor's daughter—and traded these things for stuff she really wanted, like the soft cotton t-shirt that she had been wearing at least twice a week since she'd gotten it, and the frilly tutu skirt that Daddy had just bought for her, and the NYU sweatshirt.

Most of the stuff she'd grabbed had been discarded through the years; the only things she'd kept with her was the sweatshirt and the pictures she'd stuffed in at the last minute. Even at five, she'd realized she wasn't going back to the house, wasn't going to see her family ever again.

She realized suddenly that someone was calling her name. "Carly? Are you even listening?"

"Huh? Oh, um, yes."

Dana frowned at her and said decisively, "Okay, well, you're all set to go. You have all your things?"

"Mhmm." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Richard—Mr. Castle?—looking up in surprise and glancing down at her bag in disbelief. It was pitifully clear that it wasn't even full, and for a second Carly was embarrassed. But then she remembered that she had nothing to prove to these people, that she had more stuff at Liam's and at Elena's, and that she was fine the way she was. A new foster home wouldn't change the person she was.

Carly bit the inside of her cheek and stared straight ahead, listening with only half of her attention as Dana rattled off facts—she was allergic to strawberries, she would go into anaphylactic shock if she ate one; she had a predisposition towards bronchial infections; she caught the flu easily, so make sure to get her a flu shot when the time came. It was the standard spiel that all of her new fosters got. Make sure she goes to therapy, make sure she doesn't skip school, get her to her bi-weekly meetings at headquarters. Etc, etc.

Finally, it ended. Carly finally looked up to see Katherine—Mrs. Castle?—looking at her, eyes guarded, and she set her chin and stared back until Dana called her attention away. "Ready, sweetie?"

Carly nodded shortly, and started forward, not sparing the Greenes a glance, but then she heard soft footsteps behind her and when she turned, Jason was there, his face red from crying and his chest heaving.

She glanced over her shoulder and said, "Um, can I have a sec?" Without waiting for an answer, she dropped her bag and knelt down in front of him, and she didn't even have time to reach for him before he was throwing himself at her, wrapping his arms around her neck and pressing his sweaty little face into her neck.

Rocking back on her heels, Carly caught him, giving Deanna a vicious look when she stepped forward, ostensibly to detach the crying six year old. Carly rubbed Jason's back gently, soothing him until he stopped sobbing, and she asked, "I thought you were gonna be strong, bub?"

"I th-th-thought so, too." "What happened, huh?" He mumbled something into her shoulder.

"My shirt can't hear you, sweetie." He reeled back from her, balling his fists into his eyes, like he was trying to press back tears, and Jason finally mumbled, "You're gonna go away like my mommy did, aren't you?"

"I—," Carly hesitated. "No," she said after a beat. "You can still see me, okay? You still have my number, right?" He nodded. "Well, anytime you want to see me, you just call. I'm just going to be a little bit further away this time."

"Promise?" he sniffled.

Carly pecked his cheek and managed a smile. "Promise. Now go back up—I'm sure your brother needs you."

Jason nodded, and, after giving Carly one last hug, slowly disappeared up the stairs. Carly kept her back to the others, struggling to keep her composure under the guise of watching Jason make his way up. When he disappeared around the bend, she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw for one final moment, digging her fingers into her crossed arms, and then she turned back around, mask up and ready.

There were tearstains on her shirt, she realized, and she wore them proudly, walking from the stairs to the door, ignoring the hug offered by Deanna, ignoring the twin glares Amanda and Dylan were giving her, ignoring the Castles, ignoring Dana, ignoring everything but that damn door.

_They will not see me cry_.


	6. home is a desperate end

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Carly had been silent the whole drive, and, as Kate checked in the rearview mirror, she saw that she wasn't asleep, but staring out the window, lips pursed into a thin line. Carly glanced up, then, and caught her looking, her mouth twisting into a frown.

"So," Kate covered, turning in her seat to face Carly better. "I guess we should talk about a few things?"

Carly cut her off before she could saying anything else. "I go running on Saturdays, to Mass on Sundays. Friday nights I have stuff to do, so I'm out late. Tuesdays I have tutoring, Wednesday's I stay over at my boyfriend's. Thursday's after school I go over to my friend's. Don't expect to see me around much, because you will be sorely disappointed. Also, you don't have to attempt this whole—," she gestured at Kate, "concerned parent thing. I don't need a mom _now_."

Her tone was matter-of-fact until she said finished her sentence, when it turned venomous, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Turning back around, Kate took a deep breath and exchanged a silent look with Rick, whose expression seemed to be caught somewhere between _what have we gotten ourselves into? _and _we can't back down now_.

Once again, she twisted to face Carly. "Your curfew will be eleven thirty. You will not be allowed to stay over at your boyfriend's, and we need to meet him, as well. We want to know where you're going when you leave the house, what you'll be doing, and who you'll be doing it with. We will want to meet your friends, too."

"So, really, you just want to fuck up my life. Fantastic."

"And language like that will not be tolerated."

"What are you going to do? Ground me?"

Kate forged forward, "No smoking, no drinking, no drugs. We have a toddler at home, and neither of us intend on exposing him to anything like that."

"Jesus, you must think I don't have a soul. I get it, don't get drunk or high around the kid. It's common sense."

"At all, is what I meant. Not just around the baby, but all the time."

Carly met her gaze with a flat, dead stare, and she snapped her gum. "Mhmm," she answered, and Kate emphasized, "It will not be tolerated, Carly."

"Yeah, great, okay."

Rick glanced into the rearview window, gauging by Carly's expression if he ought to intervene. She had a flat expression, as if she had flipped her emotions off. However, she didn't look furious, and he decided it would be better to let Kate get this first confrontation out of the way on her own.

Kate continued, "Any parties you go to have to be supervised." Carly snorted, and Kate ignored it. "And you can call me Kate."

"And you can call me Rick, or Richard, or Castle, or 'You with the face'," Rick put in, glancing up into the mirror and smiling in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Carly stayed silent, and then asked, "What's your kid's name?"

"Milo," Kate supplied. "He's two."

Carly smiled slightly, her mood seeming to calm. "They're cute at that age, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Kate answered in surprise. "Yeah, he is."

Carly sighed, "Anything else I need to know?"

"I have a daughter, who's nineteen. And my mother, who refers to herself as a timeless classic. They're coming down this weekend to meet you," Rick cut in.

"Family reunion—fun times."

"And my father," Kate added, "is coming as well."

"More people. Fantastic. Can we stop talking now?"

They obliged, and the ride continued in an uncomfortable silence.

...

"I've got it," Carly snapped, yanking her bag out of Rick's reach. She was not weak, and she did not need someone carrying her bag for her. "Sorry," she added, though she wasn't very sorry at all.

He took it with good humor, she thought, and backed away with his hands up in mock-surrender. She thought that, under different circumstances, she would have liked him. Her mom loved his books, she knew. She remembered being told in no uncertain terms that she wasn't allowed to touch them, when they were in the entire collection. She supposed that they'd been sold off, by now, to pay for her care, to pay for her school, what the scholarship didn't cover.

Hefting her bag up onto her shoulder, Carly hovered near the car, waiting until one of the adults made a move towards the building. She didn't know where she was going, and she wasn't about to try and figure it out on her own. The building went up. Up up and up.

Carly was a born and raised New Yorker, used to skyscrapers and buildings going up all around her.

She was not, however, used to living in them.

She spent her life in town houses and walkups, single story units in brownstones in Brooklyn and sketchy projects in East Harlem. This was a luxury that girls like her were never exposed to, the ability to look down on others.

Even living with her family—they'd lived on Staten Island in a two story home, sprawling wide and long, but never tall. She was not used to _up_. Trying not to gape, Carly waited. Kate and Rick joined her soon enough, mouths set into matching grim lines.

Had she already won? Probably not.

But she could dream.


	7. restless soul, lie down

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Milo was adorable.

Carly tried to swallow the hard pill of anger when she looked at him—he looked like her as a baby, all round cheeks and brown hair. It was weird, after being alone for so long, to meet not just one person, but two that shared DNA with her. Unnerving. Terrifying. She'd been ignoring it before, but now she realized just how much of her looks were shared with these two people—Milo's nose looked like Kate's, as did Carly's—her eyes were shaped like Kate's, too.

She had tried to convince herself for years that she didn't care that she hadn't looked like her family—that Daddy and Henry were blondes, that Mama had auburn hair, that all of them were blue eyed and she was the brown eyed interloper. She had tried.

But years went on, and when she would look at the pictures she had of them, into the mirror to see herself staring back, she would feel like she was missing something. She had found the something, and it was nowhere near as satisfying as she'd thought it would be.

She felt out of place—scuffed up boots on polished wood floors. She felt like she wanted to bolt, leaving her things on the floor to let the adults deal with later. _Let them handle the aftermath for once_, she thought bitterly.

Milo toddled over to inspect her, and it pulled her out of her mind. She kneeled on the ground in front of him, murmuring, "Hey Milo, I'm Carly." She held her hand out to him, smiling brightly as he grabbed it, playing with her fingers.

"You look like my mommy," he stated bluntly, and Carly hid her displeasure. Little kids were honest, and even she couldn't deny that she and Kate looked alike.

"Hey, Milo, why don't you go get ready for dinner?" Kate suggested, wrapping her hand around her son's small one and guiding him towards what Carly assumed must be the bathroom. He trotted off happily, slipping his hand out of his mother's and pushing the door open. He was seemingly not fazed by the new arrival, and Carly compared her own memories of herself from childhood to him. She'd always been uptight, hadn't she? And then the attention was focused back onto Carly, and she forced herself to snap out of it.

No use in comparing the two—she was sure they'd had vastly different childhoods; her parents were traditionalists, dead set on raising Carly and Henry the same—Milo was being raised by a cop and a writer, in the middle of the city. Of course he'd be more easy-going.

But, even as she redirected her attention, the niggling voice in the back of her head made her wonder—what if it had to do with her being adopted? What if, even that young, she felt out of control, unwanted, so she tried her hardest to make things the way she wanted them to be? It was a preposterous thought; she was all of five days old when she was taken home from the hospital by her parents, and, to her knowledge, Kate had fled the moment she could. There was no way she had left a lasting impression on Carly, one strong enough to influence her personality later on.

By the time she started paying attention, she caught Rick mid-sentence. "…and my office is just through those doors." He gestured over his shoulder, adding, "If I don't answer, that's where I am."

She glanced around the room they were in quickly, filling in blanks. TV, couches, chairs—living room. Kitchen to the right, connected to the living room and dining room. Long table, covered in papers—the chairs too. She doubted that the family ate many meals there. Office through doors to the left of the kitchen. She thought she was caught up. Maybe. Probably.

"Do you want a tour of the upstairs now or would you like a minute to adjust?"

"Tour, yes, please."

...

Maybe she should have asked for a minute to adjust.

After a dizzying array of directions were thrown at her (bathroom across the hall, Milo's room to the left, master bedroom to the right, guest rooms down the hall—_rooms_) Carly was standing in a room. Her room, she had been told.

For the first time in a decade, Caroline Hayes had her own room.

Alone.

By herself.

No snoring to wake her in the dead of night, no one yelling at her to turn the light off because they were trying to sleep. No one to distract her when she wakes up sobbing. No one to keep her from cutting herself open in the middle of the night, in the futile hopes of finding something decent running through her veins. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream. She wanted to be at Liam's, at Elena's, _anywhere_ but here.

She considered her chances of escaping through the window, on the off chance that there was a fire escape, though she doubted it highly. This wasn't that old or cheap of a place—there were indoor fire stairwells, and also, apparently fire escapes were really rickety? She had more of a chance just jumping for it. She felt like she was drowning.

As if sensing her distress, suddenly her phone was ringing. Carly scrambled for it, hoping that no one heard the noise. Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw that it was Elena. Flipping her phone open, she murmured, "Come up with an excuse to get me out of here."

"That bad?" Elena sounded far too understanding, and Carly almost felt guilty.

"They're _nice_. Their kid is cute, their apartment is fucking awesome. I hate it so much, I'm going to die. It's like it—."

"Almost makes it worse?" Elena finished, sounding sympathetic.

"Ellie," Carly finally said, voice tight, "I can't do this. I want to—." She stopped abruptly.

Though Elena was aware of Carly's various coping mechanisms, ranging anywhere from alcohol to drugs to razor blades, Carly had never voiced such tendencies out loud. But Elena knew.

"Hey," her friend crooned softly, comfortingly. "I'm walking out my door right now. I'll be there soon—what's the address? Do you want me to come up and escort you out?"

Carly, biting back tears, mumbled, "Can you?"

"Yes, sweetie, that's why I offered. What's the address?" Carly told her, voice shaking and throat closing, and Elena said, "Oh, you're close. I'll be there in five, okay?" Carly nodded, though she knew that Elena couldn't see her, and hung up, afraid that she would start blubbering. Now, to just bide her time until Elena arrived.

However, this time, it seemed, Elena's estimation was correct. Carly's phone buzzed with a text message within five minutes, telling Carly that Elena was knocking on the door then. Carly took the stairs two at a time, and was halfway down when she heard her friend's distinctive _I'm Being Nice to Someone's Parents_ voice. It was more polite and cheerful than the voice she used with her friends, but less so than the one she used with her priest.

She heard her friend say, "I'm really sorry to be stealing her away from you guys, first day and all, but Carly's the only one I trust on projects like this." As she rounded the corner, Elena looked up and grinned—_really Ellie? A bit much_, Carly thought—saying, "Oh, there you are, thank God. You bailed on our English project." They were in entirely different English classes, but the Castles didn't know that.

Carly rushed to her friend's side, glancing up only to see Kate's blank face. "Kate, this is my best friend, Elena. Elena, Kate."

Elena sent another blinding smile in Kate's direction, saying as Carly tugged her towards the door, "Again, I'm really sorry. I'll get her back to you in one piece."

"Carly," Kate said calmly, stopping the duo for a moment. "What time do you think you'll be home?"

Carly floundered, wanting to say something along the lines of _"half past never"_ but coming up empty. Elena stepped in. "We should be done around nine, I think? My mom will make her stay for dinner of course, and my dad'll drive her back."

Carly noticed that Elena avoided the use of the word _home_, something that Carly knew was done for her benefit. The door closed heavily behind them, and Carly clung to her friend for a moment, breaths heaving and shoulders shuddering as she tried to calm down. Elena wrapped her arms around her tightly, fiercely, and guided her silently towards the elevator.

...

"I want dirt," Elena said, flopping down next to Carly on the carpet of the Daniels' living room.

"Dirt of what nature?"

"I don't know—did you see any dead bodies? Find any evidence of aliens? Are _they_ aliens? What're they like? Do they have pets? Do—?"

"Okay," Carly interrupted. "I think you're putting too much stock in this. I was there for thirty minutes."

Eyebrows raised, Elena made a noise of disbelief. "Sorry babe," she said, "but I don't believe you. C'mon, tell me _something_." Elena poked her side, quite literally prodding her for answers, and Carly huffed, annoyed.

"I don't know, Ellie," Carly sighed, rolling onto her stomach and pressing her face into the ground. "They were nice. I hate them."

"Fine, loser. I expect a full report on Monday, though. None of your bullshit excuses." Carly groaned into the carpet, eliciting an indignant shove from Elena, who pushed, "Promise?"

She held out her pinky, and Carly begrudgingly hooked her own around it, muttering, "Promise."


	8. took some words and built a wall

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Eventually, Carly went back.

Mrs. Daniels loaded her up with borsch and pirozhki and sent her home with some food to boot, insisting that her new family wouldn't know how to feed a _nemnogo russkiy_—a little Russian—and that she was to tell them that they were invited to dinner next week. This was new, Carly thought, maneuvering the bag of food into Mr. Daniels's car ahead of her. Elena must have mentioned something about them being different.

Dinner had been nice—dinner at Elena's house always left Carly feeling warm and cared for, two feelings she was sorely lacking most of the time, and she usually ended up at their table once a month, at the very least.

Mr. Daniels made light conversation on the car ride back, which Carly was grateful for. She wasn't sure what to really expect this first night—in fact, she was mostly hoping that she'd be allowed to go to her room with the simple excuse of exhaustion. The ruse wouldn't hold up long, she knew, if she was going to be staying at the Castles' for any protracted period of time, but it would do for now.

When Mr. Daniels pulled up in front of the building, there was a rare spot open on the street and, as such, he insisted on using the opportunity to walk Carly up. She wasn't dumb—Carly knew that Elena had relayed some of her issues to her parents, and, because they'd known her since she was small enough to still have parents of her own and because they were good people, they worried about her. This was Mr. Daniels's way of protecting her, in the small opportunity that he had.

The elevator ride was silent and quick, and soon they were in front of the Castles' door. Mr. Daniels knocked brusquely, smiling down at Carly warmly. She held the bag of food closer to her body, the warmth seeping through her clothes to her chilled skin.

It was Kate that answered the door, who smiled and then grimaced. "I—we forgot to give you your key."

"S'fine," Carly said blandly, gesturing her head towards Mr. Daniels. "This is Mr. Daniels, Elena's dad. Mr. Daniels, this is Kate Castle, my—." Her voice wobbled for a moment as she searched for the right word. "My foster mother," Carly finished, biting her lip.

The adults shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries as Carly fidgeted in her spot. Kate stepped back, holding open the door for Carly, and Mr. Daniels clapped her on the back and said, "See you next week, kid." She didn't bother beating back her smile, and she bid him goodnight.

When the door closed behind her, Carly let out a deep sigh and told Kate bluntly, "Mrs. Daniels sends her regards, her food, and her invitation to dinner next Saturday." She shifted the bag of food in her arms for show, and continued, "If you're interested, there's borsch, pelmini, pirozhki, kalva, and blini."

Kate, looking slightly overwhelmed, asked, "The Daniels are Russian?"

"Mrs. Daniels is. Food?"

"Fridge," Kate said, pointing to the kitchen. She followed Carly, offering, "Let me help with that."

Bristling, Carly begrudgingly allowed her to take the bag from her arms, standing off to the side awkwardly. "So how long have you and Elena known each other?" Kate asked as she put the Tupperware dishes in the refrigerator.

"Daycare," Carly answered, matter of fact, peering at Kate over her nails that she was pretending to inspect.

"And you guys go to the same school?"

"Yeah, RiverView," Carly murmured.

"Even with the, um—?"

"Foster care?"

Carly realized, a beat late, what Kate was doing. She was _trying to get to know her_. And Carly was pissed as fuck, but maybe it was the heavy Russian food, settled heavily on her stomach and her bones, or maybe it was the warm feeling, a leftover from the Daniels. Whatever the reason, Carly answered, "Our parents enrolled us when we were little—because it's private, I didn't have to transfer as long as I stayed in the city."

"And you've stayed in the city?"

"Sort of. I did a turn at Highland for a bit, and they let me do schoolwork that got faxed over. A lot of parents weren't happy that admin was enabling a delinquent, but…" she trailed off.

"Dana mentioned you were in juvie." The food was put away, then, and Kate had turned to look at Carly fully, leaning against the fridge.

"I hope she made me sound super tough."

"Not—."

"Yeah, I guess if she had, I wouldn't be here, and that would be a crying shame." Warm feeling over, Carly was beginning to chafe at the conversation. Her tone was biting, to say the least. She had hoped that Kate would let it drop, but, alas, when was she ever that lucky?

"She told us what you were in for. Underage drinking, vandalism, destruction of property—."

"The account of my incarceration has been vastly exaggerated," Carly crowed. She held up two fingers, ticking off her crimes. "I copped to vandalism and underage drinking."

Kate opened her mouth, but Carly continued hastily, "It was a whole thing—Liam slept with this girl that hated me and she was the one that called the cops on us and—it wasn't that bad. I was at Highland for a month, probation for three."

_I do not owe this woman any explanation_, Carly reminded herself, wiping her palms on her jeans self-consciously. _I do not need to qualify my actions. I do not need to appease her._

Primal instinct, she tried to reason, was what was causing the unfortunate word vomit. This woman had brought her into the world—in the same way that Liam was always striving to appease his father, crappy and absentee as he was, she was trying to impress Kate.

It was instinct.

But still—.

"You know," Carly said abruptly, giving Kate no opportunity to respond to her last statement, "I'm exhausted. And I have Mass tomorrow—can't be late for God, and all."

She managed to keep herself from continuing on, instead choosing to flee before Kate could say anything more.


	9. eyes are the size of the moon

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Carly was awake long before dawn. Floorboards squeaked beneath the soles of her shoes as she crept down the hall towards the stairs. She intended to sneak out, purse in hand, and escape into the city until it was time for Mass; undetected and free until someone noticed her absence—but she'd already told them she had Mass, and she was sure Dana had mentioned it about a million times as well.

She was half way down the stairs when she heard a door open behind her. "Carly?" Kate's voice was rough with sleep, but alert. Carly winced.

Turning, she murmured docilely, "I was heading out early for church. I wanted to make a confession." She'd learned in her vast amount of time on this earth that sometimes, if someone was tired enough, using soothing tones was enough to convince them to believe her.

"It's two in the morning."

Obviously, this was not one of those times.

"I—."

"You're sneaking out." Not a question, nor a realization, but a statement, placed carefully on the table for review.

"…Yeah."

Carly's face burned; she was caught red-handed. But goddammit, she shouldn't be ashamed. _I do not need to qualify my actions_, she chanted, voice echoing in the cavern that was opening up within her. _She deserves no explanation. _

They stood in an awkward silence; Carly thought that Kate was trying to force an explanation out of her, and so Carly was remaining belligerently silent.

"Where were you going?"

"Elena's."

It was a knee-jerk reaction—the first name in her mind; the only name that was immediate, that mattered. Elena would back her up. Elena always backed her up. Kate looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead sighed heavily.

"Go back to bed, Carly," she said softly as she padded back down the hall.

There was no fire and brimstone, no _god-sees-and-judges _lecture that would have left Carly seething and incredulous. Carly doubted if Kate would even check to see that her order was followed through.

Maybe that was why, after Kate's door had closed, Carly slowly turned and crept back to her room.

...

"Failure to launch," Carly greeted Elena, her voice tight and angry. She'd called her as the sun came up, ordering her to meet for breakfast at the Denny's kitty-corner to the cathedral.

As Elena slid into the booth, she asked, "Rockets or otherwise?"

"I tried to leave this morning and I _didn't_." Carly's eyes were widening and narrowing with startling speed, processing, and Elena, if she were in an exaggerating mood, would say her pupils were matching.

But today, Carly's chameleon eyes were stormy and dark, and Elena struggled to find the pupil at all. "What'd you mean?" Elena asked casually, peering at her friend over the syrup-sticky menu in her hands.

"Kate caught me." Carly's voice was a whispered yell. A loud mumble. Elena struggled to make sense of it altogether—Carly was speaking English, right? She hadn't lapsed into that mangled half-language she kept in her back pocket, cobbled together of the different languages she'd picked up from living in so many diverse neighborhoods—at least, Elena didn't think she had. But what she said wasn't making sense.

Carly got caught sneaking out all the time—she wasn't a fucking ninja—and it never mattered to her. Usually she would try and make it seem like she was slightly contrite before continuing with her course of action, but there were occasions that Elena had heard about—and seen—where she simply rolled her eyes and, eyebrows raised in a perpetual look of _can you believe these people?_, she would brush past the present adults towards the door.

Her friend was a goddamn Olympian when it came to leaving.

Elena—and, hell, any well-adjusted person, if she were honest—they all had goodbyes to say, authority to respect. But Carly—Carly kept all the authority she respected within her own small frame. Carly left, short term or long, without as little as a wave. Elena prayed that she'd never be on the receiving end of one such abrupt ending.

"Oh-kay," Elena drew out the word, sucking a breath in between teeth on the _oh_. "She caught you. What happened then?"

"_Nothing_." Carly's eyes were wide, then, and bloodshot. Elena wondered if she'd slept at all. "She did nothing," Carly continued. "She asked me where I was going, and then told me to go to bed. But she didn't check on me, or anything."

"Not even to—?"

"She didn't look back. Not once. Just went straight back to bed." Carly had one hand gripping the edge of the table, holding fast by the look of her white knuckles and fingertips.

Elena stared at her friend, gauging her reactions and calculating where they stood on the My Best Friend is Cray-Cray scale. She wasn't yet at _call the goddamn paramedics_, but she was definitely above _liam kicked me out_. It was middling somewhere between _pregnancy scare_ and _liam's shooting again_. Elena could almost understand.

"So she's different," Elena murmured, reaching across and gently prying Carly's fingers from the Formica. "Maybe you should be, too."

It wasn't the first time she'd suggested something like this, but this, it seemed, would be the one time that could matter. Carly's eyes flashed steel.

"I went back to bed."

_Jesus_. It wasn't one step forward, two back—it was a mile forward, a glance back. Carly listened to no one, not even Elena. So this was…unprecedented.

"Jesus, Carly," Elena breathed, studying her friend. Carly made a face at her, conveying her message—_I know, right?_

The waitress came by then, stinking of cigarette smoke—no, wait. That was Carly. The waitress's arrival brought a ripple of air that shoved the stench towards Elena, but it was definitely from Carly. Elena made a face as she ordered.

...

Father Daniel cornered Carly on her way to leave. "Caroline," he called, eyes kind. "Caroline, it's so good to see you!"

Carly forced a smile, looking around nervously for Elena, half-hoping she would appear and rescue her from what surely become an awkward push for her to confess her mortal sins. And, in truth, if she were to do that, she was about ninety percent sure Father Dan would catch on fire from being in the vicinity of something so unholy. _Someone_, she corrected herself quickly.

Alas, Elena did not appear. She'd probably already left with her family.

"I've missed seeing your bright face in the pews, Caroline." Her full name was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Sorry I haven't been recently, Father," Carly forced out, voice sweet. As he began to say something else—no doubt leading with or including her full name—Carly said forcefully, words tumbling over one another, "You know, I hate to do this, but I've got to run."

She offered no other explanation and walked away purposefully, throwing what she hoped was a casual goodbye over her shoulder. Before she could stop herself, her feet were taking her towards Queens, quickly, and she realized it would be a terrible idea to walk the entire way.

She located the nearest subway station quickly, and lost herself among the pulsing throng of people.

...

Liam's palms were sweaty and his hands shook as he pulled her shoes off. Carly sat on his kitchen counter and watched him.

His expression was tender, his gaze focused as he worked the buckle at her ankle. She wondered what it was this time, tearing her eyes away from his furrowed brow to scan the small apartment.

The kitchen had a row of counters that partitioned off the living room from and makeshift dining room, and she was able to see everything but the bedroom. She doubted there would be anything there—she and Liam had an agreement that no drugs went into the bedroom. Quite honestly, she wasn't even sure why anymore; it wasn't like they were trying to hide anything, but the rule stuck nonetheless.

Liam gave a little shout of triumph just as Carly's gaze landed on the small bag with a handful of needles and syringes sitting next to it. Her shoe fell to the ground, and Liam went to work on the other. His forehead shined in the bleak light.

"New needles, right?" she asked, tapping his arm with her free foot. He stopped, having to move his full concentration from his task to responding to her. Liam was always like this after a fix—slow and sleepy, almost childlike. Carly figured it was sort of bad that she wanted her boyfriend high, just so he was adorable. He nodded slowly.

Liam's eyes were dark, the bags under his eyes purple and deep and as expansive as Carly had ever seen them. His cheeks were hollow, his jawline sharp and angry. Dark hair tangled into an oily mess, and Carly made a note of making him shower later. Maybe together—maybe she'd give him that. He nodded. Carly thought absent mindedly, as he returned to unbuckling her heels, that he'd never been more handsome.

...

Liam called her a cab, a gift usually reserved for birthdays or hailstorms. His fingers lingered on her hip as she fixed his hair for him. "I'll see you later," she murmured, shifting to her tip toes to try and reach his lips. Liam bent. His lips were warm against hers, his skin hot.

She didn't want to leave him alone in this state. She didn't want to leave him in general. There was something about him—some warm, soft thing about him that made her think of sleeping in on Sundays and of sharing cigarettes. When it made an appearance, Carly was reminded of why she loved him in the first place—why she'd seen the gawky teenager on the curb outside their foster home and sidled up to him. What was broken in him, was broken in her. Maybe even some more.

She kissed him again before drawing back, missing his warmth immediately. Sitting in the back of the cab, Carly twisted the ring around her finger. Her heart hammered against her ribs, itching to be free.

She'd told Liam that she had to get back to Manhattan because her new fosters were militant, but the truth was that Carly needed some time to herself. She'd been stupid to say yes to him. Really stupid.

Because this—heart pounding, hands sweating, worry sitting heavily in her lungs—it wasn't what she wanted for the rest of her life. Well. That was a lie. She wanted this—she wanted _him_, but she didn't want all this fear, worry that she'd walk in the door one day to find him dead, overdosed or shot or beaten beyond recognition. Maybe that was how he felt about her. Maybe that was how Elena felt.

Carly felt a flash of shame, remembering Elena's pale face next to her hospital bed, her iron grip on her hand when Carly had woken up. Maybe it came with the territory of loving someone. Carly decided that she hated it.

She told the cab to drop her six blocks away, and she walked the rest. The cold air was a welcome change from the late season humidity, and Carly took her time. The ring was heavy on her finger—plain silver with a garnet buried in the band. It wasn't an engagement ring, she told herself. A promise. That maybe one day they would be good enough for marriage.

If she were being honest, it wasn't the ring that was heavy. It was the panic, fluttering in her chest as she realized that she was getting closer to her final destination, in regards to her future. She always joked that she could never do better than Liam, but the truth was that she _couldn't._ Girls like her—girls like her died when they were supposed to. But she didn't, and now she was set on a road that would lead her to jail visits and little dark eyed babies asking where daddy was, asking her questions she wasn't sure she would ever have answers for.

Her heart ached for the Karr boys, again, asking her if she was leaving them. And she hated. She hated Kate, and Dana. She hated Deanna, Patrick, Father Daniel. Her mother, her father. Henry. Tyler. Elena. Anything and everything that kept her here.

Looking up, she realized that she didn't know where she was. She'd never lived in central Manhattan, often going to the outer boroughs when she moved, and was not well-versed in the geography. If she had a landmark, she could usually direct herself, but the only thing standing out right now was the Empire State Building.

The urge to lose herself in the crowd was tugging at her—Carly had a knack for getting herself lost. She'd run away from the system seven times, and only returned when she was ready to. She credited Elena a lot for that; outside of her and a handful of others, Carly didn't have a lot to stick around for, a thought that was ever present.

The idea was especially prominent on days like these—when the sky was heavy on her shoulders, and she sometimes wondered if Atlas ever kneeled under his burden. But today—today it was especially tempting today. Because she knew that if she went back to the apartment, to that family, there would be no getting out easy again. Good or bad, goodbyes—and there were always goodbyes—would be messy and heart-wrenching, lung-crushing, word-biting. This was Carly's last chance at an easy way out.

And she didn't take it.

Calling Elena for directions was the smartest decision Carly made all day, and it didn't take long to navigate back to the apartment. It was quiet when Carly walked in, and that heavy feeling lightened a bit as she crept in. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could last until she got moved again, because she _would_.

There was a note on the kitchen counter, and Carly only barely noticed it as she rounded the corner towards the stairs. Backtracking, she hiked her bag up higher on her shoulder as she padded over towards it, pulling it towards her with her fingertips. Her name was at the top, in handwriting that was eerily similar to her own—neat and blocky.

Carly wanted to scream. Instead of reading it and furthering her already fragile state of mind, Carly dropped the paper like it was on fire, deciding that whatever it said wasn't that important.


	10. off the road

**ITS STILL SATURDAY IN HAWAII SO THIS ISN'T LATE OKAY**

**disclaimed**

* * *

...

Monday morning arrived with all the gloominess that only a Monday could garner. Carly groaned as she rolled over to slap her alarm into silence. If she got up now, she'd have time to buy breakfast at the cafeteria.

Heaving a sigh as old as life, she swung her legs over the bed and grumbled as she went to her bag, settled in the bottom of the closet, and rooted around for her bag of toiletries. Out her window, she could see that it was still dark out, and she muttered a long string of obscenities at whomever decided that class at RiverView should start at seven-thirty, unlike every other school in New York, which started at eight or later.

The bathroom was just across the hall, which was good, considering the floor was freezing and Carly hadn't thought to put on socks before leaving her room. Sunday night had passed in a haze of tamped down emotion, with Carly saying very little and escaping to her room as soon as possible. Carly had strung the ring on a necklace and tucked it under her shirt when the Castles returned, and now she wished she hadn't. What did she have to hide from them?

The hot water soothed her taut muscles, relaxing her, clearing her head enough for her to remember the _long_ list of reasons why she was keeping Liam a bit of a secret. Firstly, drugs. Secondly, also drugs. Also, Carly wasn't exactly sure that the cop and cop associate would be completely down with the almost illegal relationship that she was currently engaging in with Liam. Keeping this in mind, she tucked the chain back under the neckline of her top when she dressed. Fingers shaking, she tied her hair back in a loose braid and did her makeup, the normalcy soothing her frayed nerves.

Coming downstairs, she was hoping to find the apartment empty. That Kate had left for work already, or would be leaving later, but, well, she'd never been a lucky girl.

"Good morning," Kate greeted her, pouring a cup of coffee. "I thought I could drive you to school today. Dana said that it starts at seven thirty, right?"

Carly bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Yeah," she confirmed. "That's when it starts."

"Do you want something to eat before we go? Or we could pick something up on the way?"

Carly was tempted to ignore her and walk out. To stick to what she knew. But something…something about this woman spoke to some needy little girl, deep down, hidden under layers of bitter hate. Carly desperately wanted someone to take care of her, to care about her, as much as she wanted to deny it. She compromised, placating her warring wants—"Not hungry," she said, sliding onto one of the bar stools at the counter. She tacked on as an afterthought, "Thanks, though."

Kate nodded, smiling, and offered, "Coffee?"

Oh.

Oh, Carly was screwed. Coffee was a weak spot that could not be denied, and her loyalty was easily won with it. "Yes, please," she responded giddily, only barely fighting back a smile. She was ridiculous.

"Travel cup?" Kate stood in front of an open cabinet that was literally filled with travel mugs.

Carly felt a rush of serotonin. Nodding, she felt herself warm to the woman a bit, asking casually, "So you're a cop?"

"Detective," Kate answered. "Homicide." Grabbing different things on her way—sugar, honey, cream—Kate brought the mugs and the coffee over to the counter in front of Carly, reaching for a pair of spoons a moment later. And it wasn't something that Carly expected—she wouldn't have asked for anything of this woman herself. The fact that she'd offered, that she'd been the one to draw Carly out—Carly was softening as the minutes ticked by. She'd be a sniveling puddle of emotion soon, if she wasn't careful.

As the pair began making their respective coffees, Kate spoke quietly. "I know that this won't be easy, but I'd very much like for you to be a part of our family. And I don't want you to feel rushed or pressured or anything—but the offer is there. And…_I_ would like to be able to get to know you. Do you think you would be okay with that?"

Carly froze. Rationally—yes. There were so many questions she had for Kate, questions that the scientist in her wanted answers for. But emotionally—there was equal measures of yearning and rejection in equal measure, and Carly wanted nothing more than to ignore the conversation all together.

But…there was coffee.

"I'm really angry, okay?" She wasn't entirely sure where the words were coming from, but they kept coming. "And I think you ought to know that, going in. And Elena will attest to this, hand on bible. So I can't—I'm not comfortable promising that I'll be very cooperative at all times. But I'd like to try?"

Maybe it was the early hour. Maybe it was the smell of coffee that was filling the room, soothing Carly's nerves. Whatever the reason, she actually believed her words. Carly answered Kate's smile with her own tentative one, and felt a spark of optimism for the first time in a long time.

**...**

* * *

**alrighty! so that is the end of phase one; i'm taking a break from posting through november and will resume posting on the first saturday of december! you've all been so kind to me and i am truly grateful for your support!**


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